


I Know It Isn't Your Scene

by Rumiflan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Comedy, Horror, Melodrama, Stalker, Video Game Mechanics, actress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 18:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12870027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumiflan/pseuds/Rumiflan
Summary: After a hard work week actress Marilyn Lloyd just wants to take a break. What could possibly go wrong?





	I Know It Isn't Your Scene

"You forgive me?! But I cheated on you, and almost got you killed! How, after everything I've done, can you possibly forgive me?" A young boy with glasses tried his best not to suffocate from tears. He was on his knees, looking right into her eyes. He felt like she was either the sweetest angel or a complete psycho.

"But you taught me to be independent, to be free. I couldn't ask for a favor bigger than that." She placed her palms on her chest. "And besides, my anger won't wash away your sins. You can only redeem yourself by living".

The boy wiped away his tears and stood up, still eyeing her face. "Thank you so much... Charlene..."

Charlene's smile grew as she stepped closer to him. "Don't mention it, Stephano".

And then they embraced each other. Stephano still had water coming out of his eyes, but he started to feel the sun rising over the land of his mind. The day promised to be warm with no rain, which pleased him greatly. Even though he couldn't see Charlene's smile, he knew it was as big as a—

* * *

"Cut! Great job, both of you!" The director's voice slashed through tenderness of the scene, bringing two young actors standing on the stage back to the real world. At that moment the cameraman stopped recording them, and the lights used to make the whole thing sweeter were turned off.

Stephano released Charlene from his embrace, politely bowed in front of her, and started walking towards a make-up room. She giggled, having imagined what he would feel if they kissed, and followed him. She heard the director ordering set decorators around, but that didn't matter to her now that her part of the episode was finished.

Upon taking a seat in front of a huge mirror, Charlene took off her long blonde wig and a nylon cap, revealing short brown hair held at the back of her head by a small pin. Upon removing that as well, she shook her head wildly, giving it a messy look. Then she walked behind a curtain, and proceeded to change into her casual outfit. White shirt, black skirt, red tie. A few minutes later she became Marilyn Lloyd, and she intended stay that way until the next shoot.

She walked out of the make-up room and encountered Carli Love, a good friend of hers, as well as a fellow actress starring in the same soap opera.

"Man, I can still feel butterflies swarmin' over my brain like it's covered with flowers," Marilyn said with a giggle. The girls have been starring in Cry Camellia for about five years now. Having started in 2012, the show promised to go on for as long as its ratings weren't dropping, and so far the viewership has indeed been pretty high.

One would think that playing the same role for so long would bore a person to tears or worse, but Marilyn was a different case. First of all, she knew that soap operas were a good business: virtually everyone could relate to the characters of those shows, which explained huge DVD and digital sales, as well as high TV bills. Secondly, she adored Charlene for her development. Today's episode showed Charlene finally turning into a strong and mature woman, so Marilyn was excited to play her in the following ones.

Carli chuckled. "A few months in a show like that, and you'll start becoming your character. Remember how I almost snapped after that scene with you—I mean, Charlene getting shot?" she asked, swinging her right index finger near her temple.

"Y-yeah, I do. And remember how Mark as Leraldo broke off with you, and you thought it was for real? Boy, the way you screamed after Roger shouted, 'Cut!' and Mark walked off the stage!" Marilyn said and laughed. "That was hilarious. You were THE true drama queen back then."

Carli laughed even louder, having learned to make fun of her own mistakes and shortcomings a few years ago. "Too bad my character's not getting to wear a crown, like, ever."

Conversations like that were the third reason why Marilyn loved her job. Once she asked Mark why he agreed to play Leraldo, and the answer-

"Because he's as reckless and gullible as I used to be, and I feel like going through that stage of my life again."

-amused her. She never thought someone as calm and mature as Mark would still have a bit of a teen rebel inside. Nevertheless, Marilyn supported his decision, even though nearly every scene featuring Leraldo scared her.

"Thank god it's over. One more minute like that, and I would go crazy!" said a guy walking past Carli. He paid no attention to neither of the girls, from which Marilyn concluded he was talking to himself. "I mean, come on! This show is crap, why are people watching it? Why can't they just grow a brain and watch something intellectual and positive like Insiders? It has none of this drama bullshit!"

Marilyn and Carli turned their vision towards him. He walked up to the changing room, turned his vision to the scene and pointed at it. "You call that a room? Why is it so damn pale? It's gonna bore the audience to tears!"

"Jeez, this guy is so sensitive," Marilyn whispered into her friend's ear in a mocking tone. Most members of the Cry Camellia cast were those so-called normal people that call melodramas shit, but still star in them due to being broke. Looking at them always made Marilyn sigh, as she believed no money was worth torturing oneself.

At one point she considered ending her contract due to all that negativity, but then she saw Carli and Mark signing their own deal with the studio. She heard them talking to Roger Scott, the director, and Carli's enthusiasm about her role inspired Marilyn. From that day she vowed not to let the dismay of others bring her down.

Before the despairing actor could say anything else, a blonde guy dressed like a policeman walked up to him. "Please, stop causing a scene on set, Sam. Leave that for your family, although I'm sure even they wouldn't appreciate such behavior," he said, trying his best to sound like a reasonable adult.

"Fine, I'll shut up... God, I still can't believe I have to do this," the complaining guy walked past the policeman, and when he was about to come close to the girls, Marilyn pulled the lower eyelid of her right eye, and stuck out her tongue. She hoped that he would proudly turn his vision away, and that's exactly what he did, all while walking right into the changing room.

"Wicked hell, Mari!" Carli exclaimed with a giggle. Now that was unprofessional of Marilyn, but she didn't seem to care.

Marilyn closed her eyes and lowered her head. "I'm tellin' ya, one day he'll get so mad that Roger will have no choice but to fire his ass," she said with a quiet sigh.

"Who will play Enrique then?"

Marilyn shrugged. "Eh, they'll find someone. Enrique is a one-dimensional bastard, so hiring someone else to play his role ain't gonna be that much of a pain. And besides, the asshole's got just a few more scenes before Chris—I mean, Ernesto kills him."

Carli moved her head right, and began to stare at Marilyn. Her lower left eyelid rose. "How come you know so much about the script? Did Roger and the rest of staff not guard it properly?"

"Ha, what are you talking about? Any member of the team can ask to have a look at the script so long as they promise not to spoil upcoming episodes to the general public. Nobody likes spoilers, as they may damage viewership," Marilyn replied, obviously amused by her friend's seriousness. Perhaps if they were working in a different studio, such a strict regulation would be the case, but not here.

"Love! Get on stage!" Roger shouted, surprising both of the girls.

"Coming!" Carli replied, turning her vision at him for a few seconds before looking back at Marilyn. "Man, I can't believe tomorrow's Saturday. I'll get to spend a whole day with my family and friends."

"Don't relax just yet, private Alzandua! You still have a duty to fulfill!" Marilyn shouted like a drill sergeant.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" Carli saluted her, turned around, and began to march towards the stage.

* * *

Marilyn was walking past the chalk-white buildings of Greenfield, turning her vision right and left like she was about to cross a road. Passersby were smiling at her. Some of them were praising her performance in the latest released episode, some complimented her appearance, and some just greeted her. Each voice she heard gave her a smile, and that was something she needed after all the negativity on set.

Before Marilyn knew it, a girl that appeared younger than her ran up to her. "Hi, Mari! Where are you going?" she asked, talking as fast as Eminem did during Rap God.

This startled Marilyn a bit. "To Sir Grow-A-Lot. Since I'm eating like a Pygmy Shrew, I have to regularly replenish my supply," she replied with an awkward smile. "How about you?"

"Just walking around. May I have your autograph?" the girl in front of Marilyn asked, pulling out a TV remote.

Marilyn's lower right eyelid began to twitch. "R-right here?" she asked, pointing at the item in her fan's hand, and looking at her face.

The girl just smiled. "Yup!"

Feeling a strong urge to laugh, Marilyn pulled out a black marker and wrote her name of the girl's remote. "There."

The girl hugged her remote. "Awesome! Thank you, Mari!" She kissed her idol, and proceeded to run like a schoolgirl afraid of being late.

Having blushed, Marilyn looked where her fan was running. "Wait! What's your name?" she asked, but the girl already became distant enough not to hear her.

Still feeling awkward, Marilyn nonetheless thought that little exchange was nice. The girl didn't boast on how much of a fan she was. She went straight to business, got the autograph, expressed her gratitude, and ran away. On top of that, she addressed Marilyn by the short version of her name — a complete lack of formality that Marilyn appreciated.

People like this are the reason why fame hasn't broken me yet, she thought, having walked up to the doors of Sir Grow-A-Lot. Upon pushing them, she saw a bunch of people checking store-windows.

"Good morning, young lady!" a middle-aged-looking cashier said with his hands on a counter.

"Mornin', Mister Samberg." Even though Marilyn knew his first name, she preferred not to act too familiar around him. Publicly at least.

"Usual order, I take it?" he asked. Marilyn was a regular customer of his, and she always ordered same things, so he memorized her list by now.

"Yep," she replied, putting her right hand on her purse.

"One moment," Mister Samberg said. He then turned around, and proceeded to walk towards the storage.

While waiting for him, Marilyn decided to take a look around this grocery store. Plain, sometimes even dirty clothes really separated average people from professional actors the girl was surrounded by during shootings. Most of the population of Greenfield was living on a little above minimum wage, so they couldn't afford something a bit more extravagant or pretty.

In spite of that, they smiled to welcome this weekend after five long days of work. Marilyn already saw most of her fellow actors jumping in joy upon waking up since there's no "one-dimensional boring" characters to act as, no directors to obey to, no—

"Sorry for the wait, girl. Here's your package." Mister Samberg proceeded to put a medium-sized paper bag on the counter. "That makes 14 dollars and 70 cents."

* * *

"Thank you for the purchase! Please come again!" shouted Mister Samberg once Marilyn walked up to the exit.

"Definitely!" Marilyn replied. She then left the building, turned left and proceeded to walk towards her home.

"Hey! Watch where you're going! Are you blind or what?" someone shouted. "Jeez, those jeans were new..."

Marilyn turned her vision to the right to see what that was all about, and saw a fat middle-aged man and a metalhead-looking girl standing near a lamp post. The latter was angrily staring at the former, while the former was showing the latter his palm — a gesture that looked like he was trying to protect himself from her.

"Yo, guys, is everything alright?" Marilyn asked, causing both of them to look at her. The man started to breathe faster while the metalhead's face became less angry.

"Yah, everything's fine, except for the fact that this asshole over here hit me like a fuckin' wreaking ball," the metalhead girl replied, turning her vision back at the big guy. This time her stare sent a chill down Marilyn's spine.

"A-a-I'm sorry for hitting you!" he said, and then quickly bowed down. "I've got to go!" Before either of the girls had a chance to say anything, the man started to run in the same direction Marilyn was walking before this encounter stopped her. Marilyn looked at the metalhead girl, silently asking her, "What was that all about?"

The girl in front of her did nothing but spun the middle finger of her right hand near her temple. After letting out a sigh, Marilyn resumed her walk.

* * *

The fat man quickly passed a few lamp posts and hid inside a huge dumpster standing near the entrance to a local hospital. He prayed to all existing gods that Marilyn didn't intend to look for him. Granting his wish, the girl merely walked close to the dumpster and turned left.

Once she left his sight, he got out of the dumpster. Before he could go back to stalking Marilyn, though, he heard a voice of someone who sounded like Fred Durst during the intro of Snake In Your Face. "Sup, Norman? Decided to try dumpster diving?" that person asked. Norman turned around and saw a guy with short blonde hair.

Norman scratched the back of his head. "Oh hi, Jack. Not really, I was just looking for something useful. You know how the saying goes? 'One man's trash is another man's treasure,'" he said, spreading his arms with a dumb smile.

"Heh, whatever you say, man," Jack said. He pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, and started smoking. "Just don't get carried away. We maintenance men have no weekends. Should someone screw up their pipe system or whatever, we're gonna have to deal with that still. Got it?"

Norman nodded, feeling grateful that Jack didn't see him chase after Marilyn. He didn't feel like becoming a laughing stock.

"So far there doesn't seem to be a single problem, though. Good for you, I guess," Jack said, dropped his cigar and rubbed it into the concrete with his boot. "Well, ain't gonna bother you anymore. Catch ya later."

"Good luck with whatever you have going, Jack!" Norman shouted, waving his hand even though Jack couldn't see it. Alone again, he entered the same passing between two buildings that Marilyn walked in. After making his way to the other side, Norman saw Marilyn signing autographs for a group consisting of three middle-aged men and two elderly men.

He heard them praising her performance and hoping that she wouldn't cancel her contract with the studio. Marilyn replied with a smile, and when she did, people around her became infected with her optimism.

Oh my god, she's so cute! Norman thought. A warm cloud of joy appeared in his chest and head — something that always happened when Marilyn smiled. At those moments he was ready to declare his attraction to her, but as a rule, something would always prevent him from doing so. Months of being screwed over like that taught him to be careful with his desires, so that his fantasies wouldn't completely take over his limbs and mouth.

Finally, Marilyn's fans left. Upon crossing the road, she reached the building Norman assumed was her house. He heard a few short beeps after which the door in front of Marilyn opened, and she walked inside. He ran to the opposite side of the road, praying she wouldn't close the door before he made it there. Unfortunately for him, she did. The entrance to the building became sealed again, causing Norman to fall on his knees upon arrival.

At that moment he regretted being too attracted to the young actress. He promised himself to start taking his job as a maintenance man more seriously. He promised to find his ex-wife and make up for what that attraction did to their relationship. He promised—

Before he could promise anything else his mobile began to vibrate. Having considered that a first step on his way of redemption, he pulled his phone out and pressed the green button. "Hello?" he said.

"Way, where the hell are you right now?" a low-pitched voice asked. Norman quickly recognized it was his employer speaking.

A bit nervous, he began to study the building Marilyn was living in, and found a metal sheet with an address. "I'm at 46 Family Values Street," he finally said.

"Good, because that's where our client Mrs. Davis lives. Her pipes broke, so you better fix them as soon as possible," his employer replied in a menacing semi-mechanical voice. "I'll let her know right away. She'll open the door for you. Her flat number is 67. Got it?"

"O-of course! Thank you very much," Norman said with a shaking hand. "Glad I was able to come to the right place at the right time."

"Sure. Hope you'll be able to do that more often. Bye," his employer replied, and then a stream of short beeps entered Norman's ear.

Having put his phone back into his pocket, he turned to the entrance of the building. After a few seconds he heard a short ring, and the door was released from the magnetic lock that was holding it. Having taken a deep breath, Norman pulled the handle and walked inside.

* * *

"Thank you very much, Mister Maintenance Man," Mrs. Davis said when both her and Norman walked up to the exit of her flat. "Without you, I and people below would drown."

"No problem, Mrs. Davis. All in a day's work or something like that," Norman said, looking surprisingly calm. "That'll be 330 dollars."

Mrs. Davis pulled out her wallet, and gave Norman his money. "Once again, thank you very much."

Norman walked out of the flat and was about to wave her goodbye, but the moment she started closing her door, a memory of that moment with Marilyn came over him. An image of the young girl walking away on him rushed through his brain like a film roll.

"W-wait!" he shouted, surprising Mrs. Davis. "M-may I ask you one last thing before I go?"

"Sure, good sir, sure! What is it?" she asked with wide eyes.

Norman looked upper-right, trying to come up with an excuse to find out Marilyn's flat number. Finally, a lamp in his brain became lit. "You see, I'm looking for Marilyn Lloyd. Same pipe issue as you had. I know she lives in this building, but I never got the number of her flat. My employer was about to tell it to me, but then something else came up, and he got... carried away. Can you tell me where Miss Lloyd resides?"

"She lives in flat 69, right above us," Mrs. Davis looked up for a few seconds. "Is that all?"

"Y-yeah, thank you very much, Mrs. Davis," Norman ran up to her and started shaking her hand.

"Whoa, careful there! I'll get a heart attack!" she exclaimed with a giggle. Upon being released from Norman's grip, she giggled again, and closed the door of her flat. This time it didn't give him a flashback.

He rushed upstairs, but slowed down when he saw "69" written on a door located right to him. Norman carefully approached it. The entrance to the promised land became just a few steps away.

At last, that moment has come, Norman thought. No one will bother us now. I'll get your autograph, take a few photos, and maybe more. Oh my pretty girl... you're perfect in every way! Your acting is flawless, your face is gorgeous, your attitude is adorable. What is there not to like about you?! I bet everyone thinks you're an angel, and they're right.

He started to breathe more regularly.

The way you walk past the buildings... the way you sign autographs... buy in the grocery store... marvelous! Incredible! Undeniable! Oh Mistress Lloyd, you're a goddess in the mortal flesh! You're—

BANG!

Norman Way stopped breathing. A sudden gunshot sound made time inside his mind stop. The image of an angel with Marilyn's face froze, its colors turning negative.

"Ride or die, motherfucker!" a female voice from behind the door shouted, followed by a few more gunshots. Norman couldn't believe what he's just heard. Did Marilyn Lloyd, that "goddess in the mortal flesh", murder someone?

No... no, this can't be happening... he thought. This can't possibly be her...

A middle-aged male could be heard from behind the door. "No! No! Please, don't kill"—BANG!

"Let's see how much SHIT you can say with your lips on the floor!" the same female voice exclaimed with a strong note of sadistic joy.

Wait, I think I get it... Norman thought. A lamp inside of his brain became lit, but its light wasn't yellow as usual. It was hollow white, like a powersave lamp. This must be Mistress Lloyd's competitor! She decided to remove her rival so that she could have it all instead! And the man that got shot must've been Mistress' bodyguard!

He started to sweat. I have to save her! he told himself and grabbed the door handle as hard as he could. To his horror it didn't budge one bit. Oh god, please no... wait, who am I kidding...? She's not dumb enough to let any potential witnesses in...

BANG!

"You messed with the wrong bitch, buddy!" the female behind the door shouted.

Norman started to breathe faster. A white lamp illuminated his mind as his hand fell on the right pocket of his pants. I've got to call the police! he thought, pulling out his phone. Even though his hands were shaking, he managed to dial 9-1-1.

"H-hello...? Is this the Greenfield Police Department...?" he whispered, trying so hard not to shout instead.

"Correct. Sergeant Jackson is on the line. What seems to be an issue?" a middle-aged voice on the other side of the line said.

"It's Norman Way. I'm standing near the entrance to flat 69, house number 46, Family Values Street. There's—"

BANG!

"Oh god, there's a murder spree going on...! Please, come here as soon as possible!" Norman said with his voice becoming slightly louder.

"A murder spree at 46 Family Values Street it is. Very well, I shall send in my me—"

A particularly evil female chuckle stopped Sergeant Jackson. "I JUST LOVE when a sissy like you brings his whole crew!" said the same person that scared Norman.

BANG!

"Don't worry about me, though!" she added after a few more gunshots. "My magazine is as full as the storage of John Samberg's grocery store!"

"Wait... that doesn't sound like something a killer would say at this time of the day..." Sergeant Jackson said. There was a note of suspicion in his voice now.

"You're in luck, suckers!" the female went on after a sound of a reloading gun. "For today, EVERYONE GETS A FREE BULLETHOLE!"

Sergeant Jackson chuckled, which both confused and creeped Norman out even further. "Oh, I get it now. False alarm, that's all it was," Jackson said, his voice getting more relaxed and casual. "I'm sorry Mister Way, but you're disturbing the order over nothing."

"What?! B-but... but..." Norman started blabbering. "Y-you... please, you have to..."

"...do my job? Thank you very much, good sir, but my job doesn't involve swallowing nonsense," Sergeant Jackson replied. A crunch of paper could be heard from the phone. "Calling subordinates out on their failures? Yes, of course. Reading their reports? Sure."

Norman lost it. He shouted right into his phone. "But I'm serious! There's a woman trying to murder Miss Lloyd! Why can't you understand that?!"

"Mister Way, let me give you a warning: don't test my patience. If you ever raise your voice up at me again, I'll have no choice but to send one of my boys here to apprehend you," Jackson replied in a menacing tone. "Do you read me?"

"Y-yes..." Norman whispered. The fact that the police refused to listen to him made him start whimpering inside.

"Good. Sergeant Jackson out," Jackson said with his message followed by a series of short beeps. Upon pressing the red button Norman felt like he was placed into a glass chamber with all sorts of people watching him. And laughing. And pointing fingers at him. And laughing. And shouting derogatives. And laughing again.

He grabbed his head, and began to speak to himself. His mind found an appropriate tune and—

What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I do...?

—set it on repeat.

BANG!

"WHOO!! Somebody should get your friend before I kill him too!" the female behind the door shouted. Which bodyguard of Marilyn's was it this time? The twelfth one? The fiftieth one? It didn't matter to Norman anymore.

What do I do...? What do I do...? What do I—

"Alright, Carolyn, my girl, look after the flat for me. I'm gonna go take a walk," a middle-aged male voice — pitch a bit higher than that of Sergeant Jackson's — said, putting the raw madness tune to a stop. The sound of a closing door made that scene of Marilyn closing the building door surface in Norman's memory yet again. The poor servant of Mistress Lloyd instantly realized what he had to do.

He made a run for it, pushing the owner of the flat nearby aside. He entered a long corridor with light-blue wallpapers, and then a mental image hit his brain again. He realized it was flat 70, the one that belonged to Mister Calvello. A few days ago Norman had to unclog his pipes.

Don't worry, mistress Lloyd! I'm on my way! Norman shouted to himself, running towards the gray door with a peephole. Once near it, he pulled its handle as fast as possible. Inside he saw a wall decorated with all sorts of tools. On his way there he remembered that Mister Calvello had passion for making things out of wood. And in order to cut down wood, every sane person needs—

"REJOICE, MISTRESS! I'M COMING TO SAVE YOU!"

—a hatchet. Well, actually, a chainsaw would be a better option, but a hatchet works too. He grabbed the biggest one he saw, and started running back to flat number 69. On his way there he knocked down some girl and — for the second time — the owner of number 70. Ignoring what was happening around him, Norman started axing the door.

BANG!

"Whatcha gon' do now, boss? It seems that your whole crew is dead! Time to make you my bitch!" that dreaded female voice shouted, causing Norman to speed up. After a few more hits, he stuck his left arm into the hole he made, and turned a minus-shaped bulge on the handle, unlocking the door. Once that was done, he quickly ran to the second door in front of him, kicked it, and rose his ax, screaming like TF2 Heavy upon dying.

The next moment he froze and turned completely silent. His mistress, the actress known as Marilyn Lloyd, was staring at him in shock. She was sitting in front of a large TV, holding a gamepad. There were puddles of blood and a couple of dead bodies on the screen. Whatever was happening there, it was set on pause.

Marilyn's room, on the other hand, looked completely clean. The sun was illuminating it through a window almost as large as the wall it belonged to. There were no signs of fight to be found.

"Errm... what... are you doing...?" she asked, causing Norman Way to lower his ax and unfreeze in general. "Who... are you?"

"B-but... but I thought there was a... a..." Norman blabbered, still not believing his eyes. He started to run his vision all across the room, desperate to find any signs of the dead. Any at all. But it was all in vain.

"A what?" Marilyn asked, raising the lower eyelid of her left eye. She sounded only slightly angrier than the first time, but that was enough to make Norman drop his weapon and lower his head. He took another look at the screen of her TV, then at the floor, then at the screen, then at the floor again.

At that moment he felt like a schoolboy who failed to do his homework, got an F and a scolding from his parents. "I'll... I'll pay for the door," he finally uttered.

Marilyn sighed, still not changing her position on the floor. "Good, I guess, but what brought you here in the first place?" she asked, making him even more embarrassed. Norman pointed at the TV screen, causing Marilyn to turn her vision to it as well.

"What, you wanted to play with me?" she asked. "Well, in that case you should've—OH wait, I got it! It was my screaming and gunshots, right?"

Norman nodded, unable to say anything at this point.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I should've warned your boss about my habit of shouting during videogame sessions," Marilyn said, scratching the back of her head with her eyes closed. "I suppose I scared you out of your mind."

Another nod. The image of a perfectly harmless and adorable girl Norman always pictured Marilyn as has been broken like a shop window during a riot. A strong feeling of regret for ignoring his wife when she needed him surfaced in his mind. Neurons grabbed a film of their divorce, inserted it into his brain and set it on repeat. During this session he was just standing in front of his former idol, paralyzed.

"Yo, Mari, wassup?" a female voice asked, bringing him back to reality. The same metalhead-looking girl he encountered on the streets walked into the room.

"Hi, Carol. Everything's fine, though I'm gonna need a new door," Marilyn replied with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I noticed your floor now has a pretty splinter pattern on it. Stylish 'n' menacin', if ya ask me," Carolyn Calvello said, and turned around. The moment she saw Norman her smile turned into a frown. "Hey! I know him! This is that fat fuck who knocked me down near that lamp post!"

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, still imitating a statue.

"Eh, fine, fine, I forgive ya. Ya look pretty darn beat as it is," Carolyn lowered her head with her eyes closed. The smile came back.

* * *

In the end Norman Way did pay for the new door for Marilyn, but from that day onward he became afraid of cute young girls and stopped chasing them. Marilyn helped him learn a valuable lesson: a pretty face may hide a she-beast in the flesh, and that was something he could do without. In addition, he contacted his wife and read her a long apology monologue. She didn't trust him at first, but in the end they got remarried, and he swore loyalty to her.

And Marilyn? A few days later she and Carolyn played a few rounds of WWE Smackdown!, with the latter praising the former's performance.

THE END


End file.
